


The Government and the Law

by SherlockianGirl14



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianGirl14/pseuds/SherlockianGirl14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mycroft falls in love with Lestrade and Sherlock works it out (and probably goes on to reveal it to all who will embarrass either of them).<br/>I don't really know exactly where this is going yet...We'll see. This should be fun! >:D</p><p>What's a relationship like? Hellish, I imagine. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is just basically hints at Johnlock. Well. A lot. No actual Mystrade yet (or even Lestrade).  
> Please feel free to leave a comment! :)

John rolled his eyes at Mycroft. He was tired of this; tired of these constant... _comments_ about himself and Sherlock.

“Does anybody actually listen to me?” he muttered, throwing his hands in the air. “Mycroft, I'm _not_ gay!”

“John.” Sherlock warned his flatmate. The look in his eyes said, _it's my brother, remember._ _What do you expect?_ John cast Sherlock a sullen look back. _His_ face radiated _I_ expect _somebody, just once to get that, Sherlock!_

Mycroft rolled his eyes at their silent exchange. “Lover's tiff, dearest brother?”

“Has anybody actually noticed I have a girlfriend? Remember? Her name is Jeanette? You know, dark hair, fairly tall?” he snapped at Mycroft, ignoring the fact that the comment had in fact been meant for Sherlock.

“String of girlfriends, all short-lived relationships with little meaning outside the bedroom, uncomfortable behaviour when questioned about sexuality. Tendency to get angry and defensive about the issue. Killed a man to save me after a day of our acquaintance- of course, nobody is supposed to know that but then, this is only my brother. He doesn't care about a petty act of homicide. Yet, John, you still expect my brother- and the staff of New Scotland Yard- to believe you are not gay? Of course _I_ know what you are, you're straight, but them, John. This is _them!”_

At the beginning of his speech, Sherlock had been muttering to himself, scarcely audible even to John, who stood beside him. By the end, though, his voice was rather raised... as was Mycroft's brow line. John glared at his friend for presenting such evidence. He knew Mycroft would choose to ignore Sherlock's last few sentences, and may even use Sherlock's words against them both.

Mycroft did not speak, but a smug, satisfied smile laced his face. John had had enough of this. Why was it Mycroft even came over these days, if not to anger him?

“I... I'm going for a walk!” he snapped, and stormed from the flat. On his way down the stairs, he passed Mrs Hudson, who, hearing the commotion, had been on her way up. Usually, he cared for the woman, but today he was angry. He barged past her wordlessly, briefly registering the shock and concern on her face before she left his line of vision.

 

***

 

“Well, that was interesting,” Mycroft said sarcastically. “Most interesting, yes.”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock warned.

“What?”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes at his brother. He wanted to ask him what mummy would say, but he knew the response would probably be Mycroft repeating the question. Only of course, when Mycroft said it, they'd be back to implying a relationship again.

Sherlock's brother knew he considered himself asexual, married to his work (as he had once warned John, unbeknownst to Mycroft, of course, at a time when he too thought John may just be interested in something greater than friendship). But he had to dig.

It wasn't just that it was built into Mycroft's (and Sherlock's) nature to weaken people- although that was a part of it in this case. No, Sally Donovan and Anderson and most everyone at Scotland Yard were like that. Even Molly Hooper, sometimes. _Honestly,_ Sherlock thought, _for people who claim_ I _don't understand friendship, they don't seem awfully good at detecting it, either._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Greg Lestrade into the picture very, very slowly. Sorry, I take ages to actually get into the story apparently! XD Please comment any crit, thank you :)

**Chapter 2**

 

Mycroft was worrying. Again.

His little brother, as usual, was the source of his concern.

Sherlock Holmes may be the world's only consulting detective, capable of solving any case Lestrade and his team of idiots could throw at him. But he was a curious being. Even more so than Mycroft himself, perhaps. The man had no friends- okay, perhaps one. John Watson, an ex-army doctor who had moved in with Sherlock within a day of meeting and saved his life that night, if Sherlock's word about the shot fired was to be trusted.

The man had a small number of acquaintances, of course. Then, he had a couple who were... in between those bands. Mrs Hudson, his landlady, for one. Detective Inspector Lestrade, the other.

But he was not a sociable person. He understood everything about the human brain: it's behaviours, it's habits, how certain people would behave under certain circumstances. His job relied on it, after all. Yet, as soon as he was interacting with somebody that was not linked to a case, he lost that data. It wasn't that he was shy or awkward. He was brash and somewhat cruel, in fact.

Mycroft laughed to himself. Where _had_ their parents gone wrong upon raising their sons?

 

***

 

Greg Lestrade sat, tapping his foot, in Mr. Holmes' waiting room.

He had gone to so much trouble to find where he could locate Mycroft. He had spoken to John, first, not wanting to ask Sherlock where he could find the elder Holmes. Sherlock was ever suspicious of his brother's instinct to look after him and would think this was in some way a task set by Mycroft for Sherlock to pass... or fail.

Oddly enough, John had been in a sulk when Lestrade had arrived at 221B Baker Street. He had looked up at Greg the moment he entered and simply warned him, 'don't', before turning away, forcing Lestrade to seek out his flatmate.

As he had thought, Sherlock had been suspicious. It had taken Greg an age to convince him he simply needed to talk with the man on business regarding a recent case. He had not wanted to tell Sherlock the details, but eventually, it had been dragged out of him that he had a man in custody after it was somehow leaked that he was planning to attack some aspect of the government. They had no idea what yet, and could not take the man to court until they knew (in fact, they technically should not have even arrested him, but some minion of Mycroft Holmes had visited to inform them that they were to do so regardless).

It had taken some convincing from Lestrade, which made him feel uncomfortable, and, as expected, Sherlock had been put out at not being involved in the case- though if Greg had offered him, he surely would have found it too dull. Eventually, though, he had given in and told Greg the address and even called ahead to let Mycroft know to expect the officer. Apparently, he had been making up for John's mood. The role-reversal was quite unnerving.

Greg sighed and glanced at his watch. How long was this going to take?

 

***

 

Mycroft looked up as a man entered his office. He had silver hair and was moderately tall- a little more so than Mycroft himself. He looked impatient. Mycroft knew this was less to do with the nature of the man and more to do with the fact that he had been waiting for half an hour. Well. Mycroft had to show these kinds of appointments who was in charge somehow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deduces about Mycroft and Lestrade; things should start to get a bit more interesting now (if I can write this well enough...). Please feel free to leave a comment! :)

**Chapter 3**

 

“Well?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“What was that meeting with Lestrade about?”

This caused Mycroft to give Sherlock a long, hard look.

“You know exactly what the meeting was about,” he paused, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, just to irritate his brother. “Detective Inspector Lestrade told me he had come to you, so don't lie, Sherlock. It is not an attractive trait.”

“Never stopped you.” Sherlock sulked, before taking up a post at the window with his violin. He played a dramatic piece, not his usual thoughtful, almost serene music. It was a clear sign he was sending to Mycroft- _shut up, go away, leave me alone._ He knew it would irritate Mycroft. That pleased him no end.

“You don't need to worry about that case, Sherlock. We've sorted it. Believe it or not, the rest of the world _can_ function without you,” Mycroft trilled over the sounds of Sherlock's instrument.

At that moment, John emerged from Sherlock's bedroom, wearing yet another of his jumpers. This caused Sherlock to raggedly stop playing with a surprised squeal of the violin. He stared at John, wondering if he was deliberately encouraging Mycroft.

“Just _what_ were you doing in _there?”_ both brothers asked simultaneously, although with entirely different tones. Sherlock's was surprised and irritated; his brother's smug at having apparently caught the pair out.

“Uh, no, Mycroft, before you jump to your conclusions, you're wrong, actually.” John sighed, rolling his eyes, before turning to Sherlock. “I was putting your whites away,” he muttered.

“My _what?”_ Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Your whites. Washing. You're always too busy running around chasing serial killers and other larks. Who do you _think_ does your laundry?”

“Mrs Hudson?”

“For goodness' sake, Sherlock! Don't you ever listen to the poor woman, she's not your housekeeper! If I didn't do your washing for you, you'd have nothing to wear- and don't you dare make a comment on that, Mycroft!”

“Where is your basket?” Mycroft questioned calmly.

“I'm sorry, Mycroft, my _what?”_

“Your basket. If you are putting his washing away, you must have a basket in which you put it in, surely?”

“He mostly wears darker clothes, or haven't you noticed?” John sighed. “The only lightly coloured things he owns are pants, socks and white shirts. I don't need the basket to carry his whites into his room,” John rolled his eyes, slightly flushed at the notion that Mycroft thought he had been in Sherlock's bedroom for some other purpose. “It's in the kitchen. I do most of our washing together- quicker.”

John looked Mycroft in the eye for a second, daring him to make another comment, before walking to the kitchen and grabbing the basket holding the remaining washing- his.

 

***

 

Sherlock watched his brother leave the flat. He would never let it be seen, but he admitted to himself that he felt much more relaxed when Mycroft left. Sherlock could feel his body loosen and slump just slightly as Mycroft got into the car that magically slid up outside the flat the moment the elder Holmes' feet hit the pavement.

Taking up his violin again, Sherlock began playing as he mused over a case. He watched out of the corner of his eye as his brother got in the car. As the butler went to close the door, Sherlock saw something that made him forget his violin, his case, and render him only capable of staring. Gregory Lestrade was seated beside his brother.

 _The case with the government?_ He wondered to himself. _No,_ he realised, _before John interrupted, Mycroft was telling me how it was sorted. He was gloating a little at how he hadn't needed me, actually!_

Upon this memory, Sherlock sank into his armchair, the violin now forgotten, put back in its case hurriedly. His jaw hung slightly for a second, then his face lost the shock and became focussed. His fingers knitted together under his chin and he drummed them just slightly. Leaning against the back of the chair, Sherlock attempted to go through the possibilities. Not a single one came to mind.

At that moment, John entered the room, empty washing basket in hand.

“You know, Sherlock, I'm really sick of your brother. And why is he coming here all the time? Is there something happening you need to tell me, Sherlock, because you know he only does this, only comes, when he wants something or he's worried about-”

“ _Shut_ up, John.”

“What, Sherlock? What have I even done, why are you sulking?” John snapped back.

“I told you to shut up, I'm thinking!” Sherlock bit back, before closing his eyes, his fingers bridged under his chin. “Lestrade wanted to see my brother before, said it was about a case, reluctant to tell me, perhaps it wasn't, then. Mycroft claims the case was over, he doesn't know Lestrade socially, so why was Lestrade in the back of his limousine just now...” he muttered all of this quietly, and then leant forwards, his eyes shooting open. Usually, when he figured something out, there was a pride, a gloating and of course, a relief to his look. Now, though, he looked more troubled than when he had been confused.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is such a short chapter!! Not much really happens I suppose, but this chapter and the next do lead into the main events of the story. Please leave a comment! :)

“I need to speak to Mycroft.”

“I see. And what would that be about, Mr. Holmes?” The woman asked him, her eyebrows raised. _23,_ Sherlock thought. _Serious relationship. Real name Elizabeth, naturally auburn,cat, toddler._

“Well, Miss... Sorry, your name is? Anyway, I'm afraid that is strictly personal and to stay between my brother and myself.”

“It's Anthea, Sir. And I'm afraid I must request you inform me of the reasons, please,” _Anthea_ told him, smiling curtly. _Well,_ Sherlock thought, _let's see what I can do._

“Well... Anthea. I'm afraid it is of a rather personal matter,” Sherlock paused, looking uncomfortable. “How about you could just tell my brother that it is... regarding my flatmate and myself.”

She nodded, and walked towards a closed door, her heels clicking with every step. She was in his brother's office a mere few seconds before she returned, telling Sherlock to enter.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said. “Elizabeth.”

 

***

 

“Confession time is it, brother mine?” Mycroft asked, leaning against a wall casually and twirling his umbrella in front of him.

“Indeed.” Sherlock sat down in a chair in front of Mycroft's desk and his brother went to sit behind it, smiling curtly.

“So... You and John are... In a relationship?” Mycroft smiled in a distasteful way. “I'm thrilled, of course.” He paused. “I do like being right.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It is not me with something to confess. You know me Mycroft, I'm not interested in women _or_ men. No, this is about you.”

“Me?”

“And Graham Lestrade.”

“So I'm apparently sharing a romantic relationship with that Scotland Yard DI's... brother, I take it?”

“Oh, whatever. Greg, is it?”

Mycroft paled just a little.

“That a yes, then? Mummy will be proud, you know. She always knew, Mycroft. So did I. Father didn't see it, but of course he never quite shared the family intellect.” Sherlock smiled. “I was never allowed to mention it to you in case it hurt you, or 'weakened your career aspects'. Well, not until I got proof, that is. Mummy thought you'd be far too proud to come out. You'd rather look like me, asexual, than be gay. Heaven knows why she thought that- you're far too vain to be embarrassed by anything. I knew if you wanted to be with a man you would be. Now, where is he? Greg? I presume he's here... There we go,” Sherlock muttered, pointing towards a cupboard leading off from Mycroft's office. “Bit obvious, brother mine.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I seriously have no idea what to write here. Basically, the most OOC chapter I have written in my life, so be grateful it's short! ;)

**Chapter 5**

 

 “I don't understand, Mycroft. I mean, where is he? Lestrade? Has he disappeared. What, did you eat him?” Sherlock snapped, causing Mycroft to smirk. “ _Mycroft!_ ”

“No, Sherlock, I did not _eat him._ He is not here. As you can quite clearly see.”

Sherlock frowned at Mycroft for a moment. His brother was clearly being truthful. Odd. Well, where was Lestrade, then? Sherlock had come within the hour once he had realized. It had taken him five minutes of thinking to work it out. It wasn't exactly much time- of course, Greg could have been and gone. That did seem to be the case, apparently. Odd.

“Might I check your CCTV?”

“What for?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to sit behind Mycroft's desk. The laptop had been in recent use, and was still logged on. Sherlock quickly found the programme he needed and looked questioningly at his brother. “Key for the security system?”

“Can't you work it out?”

“Yes, but that might take a while. I know you'll tell me- if you didn't, I should just assume that I know what happened...”

Grimacing, Mycroft leaned over and angrily punched in the key. The security flashed on screen. It took a few seconds of quick typing, but the CCTV began to play form an hour ago. It showed Mycroft and Greg walking into Mycroft's office. They sat down and started talking.

 

***

 

It seemed by the way Sherlock rolled his eyes and began scrubbing through the footage that Sherlock did not care about what was being said. Mycroft breathed a silent sigh of relief at this- if his brother had chosen to listen to the conversation, he would have discovered that the reason Greg looked angry and Mycroft uncomfortable had been that they had been talking about them. Their relationship.

Greg had been insisting that he didn't want to live a secret. Again. And Mycroft had been saying that they could not speak out, that their jobs were too sensitive for rumours or campaigns to be given a chance to formulate. Mycroft did not want to believe that either he or Greg worked with homophobes, but he wouldn't trust his career on that hope, certainly.

“What's this, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, smiling, and Mycroft was snapped back into the present. On screen, Mycroft and Lestrade had both risen from their seats and were standing by the door, almost awkwardly. _Oh no._ Mycroft thought. _Please, no._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 

“John, I'm home!”

“Right. And are you in a better mood now? Because if you're still-”

“Yes, John. Yes I am,” Sherlock entered the room, smiling gleefully.

“Oh. Um. Right.”

Suddenly, Sherlock's mobile was shoved under John's nose. On it was a photograph, rather blurry, clearly a picture taken of a computer screen, quite quickly. John frowned, leaning away slightly so he could see it properly. A still picture from CCTV footage. Of...

“What the hell? Why are Lestrade and Mycroft making out in his office and why exactly are you showing me a picture?!”

Sherlock smirked, turning away. “Oh, no real reason, just thought I'd show you. If you want to know why they're, as you so romantically put it, 'making out', perhaps you should ask one of them,” all the while he was speaking, he tapped out a text on his mobile and with a flourish, he pressed send.

“Who was that to, then?”  
“Mummy,” Sherlock smiled.

“Wait, what?! Sherlock, I really think you should just leave them alone...”

“Well, Mother and I always knew; it won't be news to her. She'd want to know what her children were up to, wouldn't she?”

“Not in that much detail, I don't think...”

 

***

 

Mycroft's phone buzzed. He sighed at the mound of paperwork in front of him. He couldn't focus on it anyway, knowing that Sherlock had taken that picture away with him.

His brother had snapped the picture so fast Mycroft could not stop him, and then had left as quickly as he could. Mycroft only hoped he wouldn't do anything unwise with it.

Rubbing his forehead, he scooted his chair away slightly from his desk, pulling the phone from his pocket. _Probably Greg,_ he thought to himself. Although he was hardly in the mood today, the DI's sarcastic humour could always make him smile.

Tapping in the password on his touch-screen mobile, he went to his messages. As soon as he saw the text, he dropped his phone in his lap and his head fell into his hands.

 

_Proud of you angel x mummy_

 

***

 

“Greg,” Sally called, smiling slightly.

“Yeah? Look, whatever it is, it'd better be quick, I'm busy,”

“Freak sent me this,” Sgt. Donovan clicked on a mass email in her inbox and a photograph of the DI and Mycroft Holmes flashed onto the screen. A photograph that should never have left Mycroft's security system. Where it should have been deleted.

Instead, though, Mycroft's brother, Sherlock, had apparently got his hands on it. And proceeded to send it to half the police force.

“What the hell..” he muttered.

“That's the freak's brother, right? Mycroft Holmes? Edited, I'm guessing. Look, do you want me to- Greg?”

The DI had turned his back and was on the phone, sounding rather angry.

“Mycroft, how the _hell_ did Sherlock get his hands on it? What? Yes, I know about it! Well, it's hard not to when it's been sent to half of Scotland Yard, including some of my superiors! What? He's sent it to your mother? Oh, for _God's_ sake! Why does he even want to share it around? I know he doesn't like you that much but... God. Look, Mycroft, I'm just going to go now. What? No! No. Bye.”

Sally couldn't help but smirk.

“All right, boss?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 

“Gregory, my mother and father wish to meet you.”

“I'm busy.”

“Not at this particular moment. But soon. I haven't been... In a relationship... For some time, you know.”

“Use your magical government powers to book us a last-minute reservation for four and text me the details. I'll be there.” Greg sighed over the phone.

“Thank you, Gregory.”

Mycroft hung up then and sighed. His parents sat before him in his office.

“Tell us about him, Mikey..”

“Mycroft.”

“Right, dear. So, what's he like, this Greg?” his mother pushed, smiling unbearably.

“You shall see at dinner, shan’t you. He is wonderful, rest assured. Now-”

“Is it serious, then?” his father smiled. “How long have you been together?”

“Yes, it is rather. A little more than a year. Now, I am going to reserve the-”

“Do you have any photographs?”

Mycroft sighed. Why were his parents so insufferable?

 

***  
  
There was a poster. In his office. Of the photograph.

Somebody had printed it out and deliberately blu-tacked it to his door.

Somebody was going to loose their job.

_Deep breath, count from 10... 9... 8..._

“Like the poster?”

_Argh!_

“Anderson?” Greg snapped at the rather pleased-looking Anderson. His tone was enough to make the other man look more appropriately meek. “Did you put this here?”

“No, Greg- Sir.”

“Good. Do you know who did?”  
“No.”  
“Okay. If you ever find out, I am to be informed.”

“You're talking like him!”  
“Excuse me?”

“Nothing...”

“Yeah, I am rather, aren't I?” Greg grinned and laughed slightly, licking his lips. “Right. Um. This is to be removed. Those emails are to be deleted, understood?”

“Greg, with all due respect, I work in forensics...”

“And today you work clearing the office of these pictures, understood? If you won't do it, for God's sake find someone who will.”

Greg knew he didn't really have such high command over Anderson, or any of the others, for that matter. But he wasn't sure his superiors would be exactly sympathetic to his plight, either.

He'd only been in the office 20 minutes and he was already ready to go to sleep again.

He'd have to face Mycroft's parents first.

 

***  
  
“Gregory, these are my parents. Lucinda and Patrick Holmes.”

“Very pleased to meet you!” Greg grinned.

“We've heard so much about you,” Mycroft's mother gushes.

“They really haven't,” Mycroft mutters.

“No reason for me to be scared then,” Greg replied, but the joke simply made Mycroft roll his eyes. Mycroft's parents laughed, though, so that clearly pleased Greg.

The waiter seated them, and Mycroft noted Gregory's approval at the restaurant. It was odd, the way their likes were so different. For example, Mycroft would much rather be in a highly regarded and expensive restaurant, whilst Greg frequented pubs. Today, Mycroft had compromised. They were dining in Assaggi, a relatively small Italian restaurant.

“Now, dear, tell me all about yourself...” Mycroft's mother said to Greg, initiating conversation. Mycroft smiled slightly in spite of himself. How normal, how demure, this conversation was.

 

***  
  
“How was that?”  
“Surprisingly acceptable.”

“'Surprisingly acceptable'?!”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Mycroft looked Greg in the eye, causing the grey-haired man to laugh. “So, translated into human, you mean it was good. They liked me.”

“More or less.”

Greg smiled as the door to Mycroft's car was opened first for Mycroft, then him. This treatment had taken some getting used to. The lifestyle was luxury, there was no question about it. But what struck him was how.. _Invasive_ it was. Staff around 24-seven, that sort of thing.

He didn't care. He'd stopped caring a while back now. It was for Mycroft. It was worth it. Anything was.

 


End file.
